The Everybody's Got a Story Series
by Nicole Berman
Summary: There will eventually be 12 short fics in this mini-series, each one titled for a track from Amanda Marshall's "Everybody's Got A Story" CD, with each based on a different character or pair.
1. Everybody's Got a Story

Sipping at my cherry coke, I shook my head. "That's not what I mean, Margaret. I just..." I exhaled loudly, shrugging. "I know Toby'd be lost without me, I just feel like a glorified secretary." 

"You *are* a secretary," Margaret replied calmly, stirring her green tea. 

"I'm not!" I protested. "I'm supposed to be an assistant, we all are, but Donna's the only one who ever goes anywhere. God, just once, I want him to hand me something important and say 'I know you can do it, Ginger'. I want him to trust me." 

Margaret shook her head slowly. "Toby doesn't trust anyone. It's not just you." 

"I know." I sighed again, my frustration tightening my chest. "I just know I'm capable of so much more and I want the opportunity to prove it." 

Margaret stood, resting her hand on my shoulder. Giving it a tiny squeeze, she comforted, "You will, don't worry. Just give it time." 

"Three years isn't time?" I muttered to myself when Margaret was gone.   
  


* * *  
  


I felt so bad for Ginger. The poor girl was giving this job everything she had and unfortunately, she worked for the one man who could be counted on not to voice his appreciation for it. After checking his schedule, I knocked on Leo's door, interrupting his corned beef sandwich. "Leo," I began, "It's time to evaluate our assets." I shut the door and explained the situation to him. I doubt the rest of the staff can appreciate it, but after ten years, we've developed a personal relationship of a sort. He's still the same brusque personality, but when I sit him down for a talk, Leo honestly listens. He knows I don't bring him crap. I wait until an issue has reached a boiling point, and he appreciates that. So when I told him that, in my opinion, Ginger was on the verge of quitting, Leo blanched. He knew as well as I did how hard Toby was to work with, and finding him a new assistant was the last thing Leo wanted to attempt, especially in the middle of preparing our first White House Resolution.   
  


* * *  
  


I laughed softly as I read the memo. Printing it out, I slipped into Toby's empty office and planted it on top of his laptop, where he'd be sure to see it. I left Sam's copy in his inbox; if he saw it, fine. Sam wasn't the problem. 

The changes came slowly, here and there. Toby took Leo's admonition to heart. He was now 'utilizing personnel and services' which were 'chronically underappreciated and undervalued.' I had to smile at Margaret's choice of words. Finally, I was getting a little more of the work I'd wanted. 

The flowers were over the top, though. I assumed they were a thank-you from Tabatha Fortis and only skimmed the name on the card. I blinked twice before seeing my own name. Opening it, I read the cramped, distinctive handwriting. 'Ginger, I'm glad you didn't quit. Take Friday off for this.' I flipped the card over. Taped to the back were two tickets to Disney on Ice at the MCI Center. My eyes watered and I had to chuckle out loud. In three years, Toby had never asked about my personal life, but now he'd given my son and me tickets for an ice show. I simply shook my head. 

THE END 


	2. The Voice Inside

*It was the way he said my name,* I thought. 

My hair flew wildly, trailing behind me as I whirled. The music pounded as I spun in circles, letting the music invade me, corner me. My eyes fluttered closed as I did a gypsy dance I'd learned in Greece when I was twenty. "Listen to the voice inside!" I sang along, the beat poured through my apartment, carrying my feet. 

*It was the way he came when I needed him.* 

"So what if he can't dance? His heart is kind and those big hands are soft. He speaks a language that can change what I believe. So - my friends don't think he's cool, he likes Coltrane, I like Tool. He wears leather patches on his tweed. Yeah-- but I know that he's deep. The company I keep, may not be the company I need...to pay attention, this is serendipity! The genius is in the mistake." 

*It was the way he smiled,* I decided. 

I spun around once more for good measure, and sank to the floor. Folding my legs, I dropped my hands to my knees and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my pounding heart. 

*It was the way he wouldn't sacrifice what he knew had to be done.* 

Reaching for my ever-present pen and pad, I kept my eyes closed as I scribbled keywords and phrases as they scrolled through my mind. It'd been a long time since I'd written a love poem and I felt a little silly, but I pushed on. The music played again, the song on repeat. When a song struck my creative nerve, I often listened to it until it was burned in my brain, drawing every inspirational bead I could from it. "The Voice Inside" was definitely one of those songs. "Every big decision is a trial by fire, wisdom acquired. Fuel my desire, ooh baby, my heart aspires to genius," I kept singing even as I scrawled blindly on the legal pad. 

*It was the way he changed my mind without making me feel stupid.* 

"Listen to that voice inside." A mental picture of Toby, sitting beside me on the steps at Georgetown, slips in between the words. I can't help smiling, praying silently for a sign. I wanted so badly to go for it, but what exactly was I going *for*? He didn't ask to be my escort to my party...but he did come out personally when they called to tell him I wasn't feeling well. He didn't offer to drive me home, but I was on his To Do list. I was sitting there, arguing with myself, something I didn't do often. I just listened to that inner voice and did what I wanted or what felt right, like I'd followed my heart about the land mines ban. Until he'd convinced me I was wrong. I sighed, an admiring smile adorning my face at the thought of his silver tongue. There's no bigger turn-on than a well-spoken man, especially one with such honest eyes as Toby's. 

*It was the way he looked so relieved when I gave in that I could've kissed him.* 

Lost in visions of him, my hand still scribbling madly, my eyes still closed, I dropped the pen when the phone rang. I threw myself back on the floor, reaching up to the end table now just above me. The receiver of the cordless fell out of my hand and hurtled toward my face. Ducking, I managed not to bean myself. Swiping the cordless off the floor, I hit the button, giggling and breathless. 

"Tabatha?" 

*It's the way he says my name.* 

THE END 


	3. The Gypsy In Me

"Tabatha?" I heard breathless giggling on the other end of the line. "It's me. Toby Ziegler," I added, just in case. 

"Hi, Toby." 

"Hi." 

Silence. 

"Toby?" 

"Yup." 

"You're quiet." 

"Yup." 

"Did you call for a reason?" 

"Yup." 

"Why?" 

*To hear your voice.* I stumbled over my words. "I--There's a thing, on Saturday. Are you...would you like to go?" 

Tabatha's giggling again, only now it's at me, I think. I squeeze my stress ball a little harder than necessary. I can't keep from smiling when she finally says, "Depends. What kind of thing is it?" 

I give myself a sharp mental kick. "It's a reading. Yeats. At George Washington." *Speak a full sentence, dammit!* 

"I love Yeats." I can hear her smile and it makes my stomach clench. I'm getting into something here, and I can't for the life of me think of a reason not to.   
  


* * *  
  


I tossed my jacket over the back of the chair, loosening my tie and disposing of it as well. As usual, I had to analyze every word, every gesture from the evening. 

We did go to the poetry reading, and dinner afterwards, and drinks after that. My fate was sealed when she ordered a single malt scotch on the rocks. When we got back to her apartment, she invited me in. Sitting on her couch, I let my eyes roam. She watched me, saying nothing, until she reached over and brushed her hand across my cheek. I jumped slightly and she tilted her head, resting it on her palm as she studied me. 

"You're scared," she said, slightly amazed. I shook my head but Tabatha countered with a nod. "Yes you are." Smiling at me, she added, "I'm a poet, Toby, if there's anything I know, it's human emotion." 

I turned my eyes away but she drew them back simply by staring at me. Resting her hand on mine, causing a searing heat, Tabatha smiled gently. "It's okay. The mixed signals were there the other night, when I had my little breakdown." She laughed a little. "I...we can take our time," she offered, squeezing my hand. "You're a gypsy." 

"I'm a gypsy?" I raised one eyebrow, expressing my doubt. 

"You need time and space, I know. You're a free spirit, a gypy," she insisted. "But I like you, Toby. I like any man who puts me on the top of his To Do list." 

I had to smile. "Tabatha..." 

"But you have to promise not to say my name." 

"What?" 

"Because when you say my name, it just makes me want you." She brushed my cheek again. I didn't jump this time. 

"Sorry." 

"Don't be." 

"I'm not." 

Tabatha closed her eyes and leaned her head back, laughing. When she rolled her head forward and looked at me again, she was biting her lip in the cutest mannerism I have ever seen on a woman. But maybe I'm biased. 

Our eyes connected and she began to recite quietly, "The finest tapestry takes patience and the ability to wait, for each thread to support the bigger picture and the larger purpose. And in the fearless, reckless pursuit of intimate love, it is not the destination. It's the journey." 

"Keats?" I guessed. 

"Amanda Marshall." 

"Who?" 

"Stick with me, Mr. Ziegler. I'll teach you things." 

*I bet you will.* 

THE END 


	4. I Saw Him First

Searching for higher views   
Hungry for I love you's   
It was my time it was my space   
It was the bright red he brought to my face   
Every underdog has their day   
Sorry it hurts   
But [Amy], I saw him first.   
--------------------------------------------   
"I don't know, Donna, I just..." He rested his head in his hands and I gently rubbed his back like I did after Rosslyn. I bit my lip, trying to keep my thoughts to myself. "What should I do? Come on, you know about this stuff." He turned his head to look at me, and his expression made it impossible to keep quiet. His beautiful brown eyes were pleading with me to give him my opinion. I hardly ever get to see that look, where he's not cocky, self-assured, smug Josh. I reached out, rubbing his arm softly under his tuxedo shirt as we sat on Toby's little couch. My gown crinkled as I shifted in my seat. "It's up to you. I know you're not being commitment-phobic." Josh grinned at the phrase. "She broke your trust and went behind your back, and you've got to decide if you can forgive her and trust her again or not, but I can't decide for you." *As much as I want to.* 

"I don't know," he said again, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tossed the options back and forth in his head. My Josh, always making mental lists, pros vs. cons. He's such an analyst. Tentatively, I stroked his temple once, fighting the urge to kiss his forehead. He always made faces at me when I did that. "I'd hate to see you get hurt again," I told him honestly. "But if you think she won't, then..." I trailed off. 

Josh sighed, leaning back and looking at me. "I should just end it now, shouldn't I?" I didn't say anything, just went back to rubbing his arm. "I can't trust her any more, and damn," he sighed. "I thought I was getting past all this ... these issues," he smirked sardonically. 

"You are," I assured him, impressed with the depth he was showing. I'd never heard Josh being that honest about *anything* before. "This wasn't your fault." 

"No?" 

"No," I affirmed. 

"Donna?" 

"Josh?" I gave him a little smirk of my own. 

"Have you ever thought...about us?" 

I sucked in a breath and admitted, "Sometimes. Where are you going with this?" 

The smug grin was back. "Would you fight Amy for me? You know, like, jello wrestling or something?" 

"Josh!" I stifled a laugh, standing and heading for the door. "No man is worth getting jello in places I can't reach with a loofah. Not even you." The door swung open under my hand, and our voices echoed in the silence of the deserted West Wing; nearly everyone was at the First Lady's birthday party. 

"Too bad. 'Cause if you'd said yes, I woulda dumped Amy." My hand froze on the door. I could see his teasing smile without turning around. 

Taking a deep breath, I spun around. Leaning against the doorjamb, my expression was teasingly disappointed. Snapping my fingers as if to say 'Drat!', I shook my head. "And see, Josh, if you dump Amy, I'll probably say yes to a lot of things." Laughing, I turned and slipped down the hall, very proud of myself. For once, I'd gotten the last word in against the most infamous word-slinger in the West, Joshua Lyman. Go, me. 

"Donna, send me Amy when you're done strutting around!" 

Always the assistant, never the jello wrestler.   
--------------------------------------------   
"Yes to what?" 

I should've known better than to get in early this morning. I looked up from Garfield to see Josh hovering over my desk. I hate it when he hovers, makes me want to get out the flyswatter. "What, yes to what?" 

"Exactly." 

"English, please." 

Josh smirked and said, "What are those things you're gonna say yes to?" 

I started to repeat his question when it clicked. "Oh, you mean---" I frowned. "You dumped her?" 

"Uh huh. Is a date one of those things?" 

Shit. Uh..... "Yes?" 

"Good. Friday. Schedule it." 

I sat, watching as he disappeared down the same hallway I had used last night, leaving me with my mouth hanging open. Once again, he'd gotten the last word. Damn him. An idea came over me to get a final word in, an idea which I'd tell Josh about in a few years, if he earned it. 

I couldn't resist. The e-mail came from a free hotmail account, which I promptly deleted after serving its purpose -- no need to aggravate things. It said simply, "Sorry. I saw him first." 

THE END


	5. Red Magic Marker

Tilting my head forward, I rubbed the back of my neck with my hand. Usually stress can't affect me physically, but even *I* react to two nights without sleep. Running a hand over my forehead, I glanced back at the computer screen. The words blurred in front of my eyes and I knew I had to get some sleep. Standing up, I grabbed my coat and headed out, scanning the desks as I passed. Everyone was gone, even Toby had left an hour ago. I heard noise coming from Leo's office as I made my way to the entrance hall and shook my head slowly. That man would kill himself working. 

As I slid behind the wheel of my car, I felt the exhaustion creeping into my very bones. Sitting in the shaft of light cast by the street lamp, I wondered if I was even safe to drive in this condition. I hadn't even turned the key in the ignition when a rap on my window scared the hell out of me. I jumped and hit the locks quickly, my heart racing. The pounding began to abate when I recognized the face half-smiling ruefully at me through the dewy glass. I pressed the button and when nothing happened, I realized the car wasn't on. Shaking my head in disgust at my own incompetence, I turned the key far enough for the battery to click on and buzzed the window down. "Eleanor Bartlet," I chided, forgetting sleep for the moment. "What are you doing in D.C.? And more importantly, what are you doing out here this time of night without your agents?" 

"Hey, CJ. They're over there." She gestured to her left, vaguely, ignoring my first question entirely. Her voice is soft and high-pitched; it always has been. She sounds like a child most of the time, timid and quiet, but it covers up a will of steel. 

I peered into the darkness, but the secret service were either disguised as squirrels or had been ditched. "I don't see anyone, Ellie." 

A fleeting semblance of a smile darted across her lips as I used her nickname. "They're there, trust me," Ellie replied, her tone jaded. 

"They're for your own good." I realized we were darting off into a conversational tangent, but as I was about to get us back on track, she did it for me. 

Resting a hand on the roof of my car, Ellie leaned in a little. "I couldn't sleep, so I was taking a walk," she began answering my question belatedly. "I saw you come out and..." She shrugged, her eyes meeting mine. "I thought maybe we could talk?" 

"Now?" I flinched, every cell in my body craving my soft bed and down comforter. 

"Yeah...no," Ellie amended, shaking her head. "It's--it's not that important, you're probably tired. It's late, go home." Dropping her hand to her side, she backed away from my car but didn't turn toward the Residence. 

"Ellie," I said, raising my voice slightly to cover the distance. "Come on, I'm your friend. If you need to talk, then I'll listen. It doesn't matter what time it is and you damn well know it." I slid the key out of the ignition and climbed out of the car. "Where can we go?" 

"My room," she offered easily, leading me inside, though I knew the way quite well. How often, over the course of seven years, had we shared coffee and cheesecake in the Residence's kitchen? How many times had she convinced me to stay after work to trade stories of old disappointments in her Laura Ashley-bedecked bedroom? Truthfully, the friendship was a little odd. I was pushing thirty when we met, and Ellie could still see seventeen from where she was. If anything, I should've been closer to her older sister, Liz, but we'd talked and nothing had come of it; she was too much like Martha Stewart for my tastes. Then Ellie and I got to talking. Her mother's right, she's always been at least ten years older in mind than body. I guess that's what caught my attention at first and kept me interested. We just connected on so many levels and it was nice to have a friend, someone I could complain to when Toby was an insensitive shit and brag to on the rare ocassion when I was quoted accurately. 

She closed the door behind us and I grabbed the bed. Kicking off my shoes, I stretched out, closing my eyes. 

"Hey," Ellie objected, but I heard the smile. 

"No," I replied without opening my eyes. "If you're gonna drag me up for a girly chat at two in the morning when I've worked for more than twenty-four hours straight, then I get the bed." I opened one eye. She was sitting in the beanbag chair, her back to me, and I saw Ellie fiddle with the CD player before a song started to play. "Do you ever get tired of hearing the same songs for weeks on end?" I asked, knowing the answer before she gave it. 

"Nope." Ellie toyed with a chunk of hair that had fallen out of a loose braid and I couldn't help grinning. "What?" she demanded, her lips pursing in her attempt to look indignant. 

I kept grinning and replied, "Ah, nothin'. You're just cute." 

"Thanks." She giggled, and started to sing along with the CD. 

Hating to interrupt her, I did anyway. "Eleanor," I said with a soft smile to contradict my tone, "why am I here?" 

"Well, that's an interesting question, Claudia." 

*Oh, God, no.* 

"If one accepts the philosophies of Jean Paul Sartre, one might tell you that you're not actually here at all, whereas if one were to examine that question from the--" 

I couldn't help it; I started to giggle and couldn't stop. Turning on my side, I buried my face in one of Ellie's pillows and laughed until my sides ached. Through my own giggles and the pillow, I heard her giggling, too. When I looked up, Ellie was leaning back in the beanbag, her arms crossed over her chest and tears of laughter in her eyes. "What's so funny?" she gasped through a hiccuped laugh. 

"You. You and your father," I managed. "Turkeys and stuffing and existentialist French writers." 

"Huh?" 

Shaking my head, I wiped my cheeks, even more exhausted now after my giggling fit. "Nothing," I answered her. "Seriously, Ellie," I continued, calmed down, "what'd you want to talk about?" 

"I....I'm not sure where to start." 

"Anywhere," I said quietly, still lying on my side, watching her out of the corner of my eye. She hated to be stared at when she spoke, it was one of her little idiosyncrasies. 

"CJ." She paused for a long moment until I was ready to press her to continue. "I'm gay." 

"Yeah," I nodded, waiting for her to speak again. When she didn't, I added, "Are you practicing on me again? Should I pretend to be...who was it last time...your roommate?" I tried not to sound like I was teasing, but I'd been unsupportive roommates and shocked best friends too many times to count. Every time Ellie thought about revealing herself to the people closest to her, I was her target practice. Every time, though, she backed out. The fear of her parents and the media finding out kept Ellie just-this-far from being truly comfortable with herself. She and her father had a tenuous relationship, at best, and we both knew he wouldn't take the news well. The President had never really understood Ellie, I think because she's less obviously passionate than he is about most things. But, God, get her talking about medicine or love, and she'll go ten rounds just like he will. 

"No." She sighed. "It's just tough, you know? But I hate to whine." 

"Okay." I checked my watch. "Five minutes, go." 

Smiling a little, Ellie launched into a diatribe about the homophobic pseudo-Christian right-wing bigots and how they made it impossible for her to just *be*. Watching her, I heard myself at her age. *That wasn't so long ago,* I amended in my head. Just enough had happened in the interim to make it feel like ten lifetimes ago. When she had finished, I smiled understandingly. "If I could help you, I would," I offered. "But there's not much I can do." 

"I know," Ellie nodded, her expression caught between sadness and resignation. "I just wish...you know what I wish most?" 

"No?" I offered, although it seemed like a rhetorical question. 

"I wish I had a girlfriend." 

Supressing a teasing comment, I tried to be gentle as I replied, "Well you know, honey, it's much easier to get a girlfriend once you've come out of the closet and people actually know you're gay. It's kind of a cart's-ass-in-the-horse's-face thing." *You're one to talk.* 

"Like you can talk." 

I shouldn't have been surpised; Ellie had this knack for reading my mind. "I know, but I'm just saying." I shrugged. "That's why I'm single." 

"No, *you're* single because you work for the President of the United States. Your normal workday is fifteen hours long and you drink so much coffee I think it's replaced blood in your veins." Ellie grinned, scooting closer and taking my hand, turning it palm up. She leaned forward and dropped her ear to the underside of my wrist. "Yeah," she nodded with a wry smile, pretending to listen to my pulse. "It's supposed to sound like bum-bum-bum and instead I hear 'Mr. Coffee! Mr. Coffee!'" 

I started to laugh again and it felt really good. Much of my job is so serious and important that it's impossible to find the humor in it. Pulling my hand away slowly, I shrugged and grinned at Ellie again. "I like my job." Just a touch of defensiveness lingered in my tone. I knew why I was single and the demands of my career had little to do with it. 

"I know. And you're great at it." Ellie smiled comfortingly, and it made me think what a great choice oncology was for her career. Cancer patients, terminal ones especially, require a light touch and Ellie had always had a gentle manner about her. In fact, she was so sweet that I'd worried at first that she'd be eaten alive in a competitive environment like medical school. But as we got closer to each other, it quickly became clear that she is also doggedly determined. Like both her parents, when Ellie wants something, nothing gets in her way. 

I shrugged again and we sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the music. I knew something was still bothering Ellie. We hadn't yet hit on whatever it was she'd brought me up here to talk about. "What's this song?" I asked after a minute, my eyes closed again. I could hear my own voice becoming groggy as I fought sleep. 

"Do you want to go home? You look exhausted," Ellie said softly. 

"No," I murmured sleepily. "Can I just crash here? My place is like half an hour an' I don't think I can make it." I yawned, opening my eyes to look at her. 

"On one condition." Her voice was so low I could barely hear it. 

"What's that?" I asked, yawning again. 

"I want to hold you." 

To Be Continued in "Dizzy".


End file.
